A week ago, I had shoulder surgery.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t on my vision board. And it definitely wasn’t how I thought I’d be spending the summer undergoing this surgical procedure.

The injury happened during cleanup after Hurricane Helene—a quick movement, a sharp pain, and then that slow, creeping realization: something wasn’t right. I told myself I was fine, I pushed through, I figured it would heal on its own.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
And eventually, I found myself in a surgical gown, waking up in recovery after the surgery, and heading home in a sling.

Not exactly the kind of pause I had in mind.

When You’re Forced to Slow Down

I’m someone who likes to move. To take care of things. To handle the laundry, get behind the wheel, throw my hair up in a ponytail, and carry way too many grocery bags at once just because I can.

Right now? I can’t do any of that, largely due to the surgery.

The funny thing is, I thought the hard part would be the pain—but honestly, it’s been the pause.

Letting other people do things for me.
Asking for help.
Admitting I can’t do it all.

It’s not just inconvenient—it’s identity-shaking. Who am I when I’m not doing everything for everyone? What’s left when I can’t manage it all myself due to the surgical procedure managed by others?

Even now, I’m typing this with one hand. Slowly. Carefully. And with a brand-new awareness of just how much I usually take for granted—like driving, doing my hair, reaching the top shelf, and yes, even folding the laundry.

Some days, it feels like everything takes twice as long and drains twice as much energy. Other days, I’m surprisingly okay. I find moments of stillness I didn’t know I needed, I hear myself think again, I let myself breathe.

The Sock Incident (and Everything Else)

Then came the moment I’ll never forget.

Post-op, I really had to pee. But there wasn’t a bathroom in the recovery area, so they offered me something called a PureWick. If you’ve never heard of it, it’s basically a vacuum device they place between your legs to catch the pee before it goes anywhere else.

In theory, it’s genius.

In practice? It was slightly off-center.

And I didn’t just pee a little. I was soaking wet—all the way to my ankles. I had warned them I needed to go.

The nurse was lovely. I was mortified. And all we could do was laugh—because what else can you do when you’re freshly stitched together and now sitting in your own puddle?

It was humbling. It was hilarious. And it was the first of many reminders that recovery after surgery rarely goes according to plan.

The Power of Asking for Help

In the middle of all this—the immobilizer sling, the physical therapy ahead, the slow mornings and awkward showers—I’ve also been surrounded by support. Family, friends, people stepping in without hesitation.

It’s beautiful. It’s comforting. And still, it’s hard.

Hard to let go of the need to do everything myself;
Hard to accept help without guilt;
Hard to sit still in a world that celebrates nonstop motion.

But that’s the lesson I keep bumping into. That strength doesn’t always look like pushing through—it sometimes looks like pausing. That confidence doesn’t always look like independence—it can also look like letting someone bring you a glass of water or drive you to an appointment or open the pill bottle you can’t twist on your own.

And the thing is—people want to help. They want to show up. But they can’t if I don’t let them.

Why This Matters

I’ve talked a lot about confidence. I’ve built an entire method around it—REAL:

Respect yourself.
Embrace your failures.
Ask yourself what you want.
Live without limits.

Right now, I’m living all four as I recover post-surgery.

I’m respecting myself by slowing down—even when I want to push through;
I’m embracing the setback without letting it define me;
I’m asking for what I need (again and again)—and allowing myself to receive it.
And I’m learning that “living without limits” sometimes means letting go of the pressure to do it all.

Because healing post-surgery is hard; Surrendering control is harder.
And somehow, in the middle of all this, I’m still learning how to show up for myself.

Gratitude in the Smallest Things

I can’t drive, I can’t put my hair up, I can’t even do laundry (which—let’s be honest—isn’t the worst thing to let go of). But I can see how loved I am, I can feel the strength of my support system. And I can appreciate the gift of stillness—even if it comes wrapped in inconvenience due to surgical recovery.

These aren’t just tasks I’m letting go of. They’re opportunities to reconnect—with the people around me, with the present moment, and with the part of myself that doesn’t have to earn rest to deserve it.

Because the truth is, we don’t always slow down voluntarily. Sometimes our bodies force us to pause so our minds can finally catch up.

And when we do slow down, we see things differently. I’m noticing sunsets again; I’m catching myself scrolling less; I’m finding gratitude in warm meals, in text check-ins, in people who make space for the version of me that isn’t “on.”

Take the Next Honest Step

So if you’re in a season of stillness or frustration, of forced pause or unexpected limits—know this:

There’s growth here too;
There’s humor;
There’s healing.
And maybe… a little pee on your socks.

But also: there’s grace.

You don’t have to power through. You don’t have to pretend it’s fine.
But you can take the next honest step.

Ask for help.
Let go of one thing.
Rest without guilt.
Laugh when it all goes sideways (even if you’re soaking wet to your ankles).

You’re allowed to heal.
You’re allowed to receive.
And confidence? It starts right there with even the smallest steps like taking care after surgery.